


Stroking the Werewolf

by Eris18



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek likes growling, M/M, Password protected Word documents are your friend Stiles, Scott is a potato, Stiles is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eris18/pseuds/Eris18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’d walk by Stiles’ coffin, tears streaming from their eyes. Tears of <i>mirth</i> and <i>derision</i>. Especially Lydia and Jackson, who would come purely to laugh and for the free food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stroking the Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calysta Rose (Calysta)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calysta/gifts), [herlovewasajoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herlovewasajoke/gifts).



To be fair, he hadn’t meant to leave it lying open. On his desk. With the window open as usual.

And then Derek did his usual creeper thing by climbing in the window and he made Stiles jump and drop the book he had been reading for school. 

The sound of his copy of Hamlet slapping shut on the floor was deafening in the room’s sudden silence.

His eyes widened in fear and shock when he saw what Derek was reading. He wasn’t particularly surprised about Derek being in his room, but reading that particular notebook?

He was going to die. Slowly. Painfully. Horribly. And the Argents wouldn’t even avenge him because it was his _own damn fault_. They might actually laugh. No, they _would_ laugh. Everyone would laugh. 

They’d walk by Stiles’ coffin, tears streaming from their eyes. Tears of _mirth_ and _derision_. Especially Lydia and Jackson, who would come purely to laugh and for the free food.

His epitaph would read ‘Killed by his own stupidity; totally deserved it’. And then he would become a legend, a cautionary tale told to children on reasons to never write anything of this nature down ever.

At this point in time, ‘to be or not to be’ was definitely _not_ the question. The question was ‘how far can I get before he catches me and rips my throat out with his teeth?’

Because that particular notebook? Was not for anyone else’s eyes. At all. Ever. Not even Scott. Not _even_ to be read upon the occasion of Stiles’ death. He had plans to write strict instructions to his dad for that notebook to be burned should aforementioned perishing occur.

And Derek was reading it, flicking through the pages idly until he reached the one thing Stiles had never hoped he’d see. Stiles knew the exact moment Derek had reached that page, because the werewolf’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline.

“What, exactly, is ‘stroking the werewolf’?” Derek growled. “And why have you written it just below ‘flogging the dolphin’?”

Stiles was frozen to the spot. He couldn’t speak. Stiles. Who was usually able to talk so much that he changed subjects about three times in one sentence.

Derek glared at him, looking for all the world like he had the answers he needed already. 

Stiles could, for some reason, almost imagine a pair of half-moon glasses perched on the end of Derek’s nose. And then he was thinking about Derek wearing _nothing but_ a pair of half-moon glasses and-

“ _ **Stiles!**_ ” Derek growled.

It took a few minutes, even after that, for Stiles to not imagine Derek as a topless sexy librarian. Not that topless sexy librarians were even a thing, except in porn. Not that Stiles had ever watched porn...not that his dad knew about, anyway. Or at least pretended not to, anyway.

Wait. Derek. Expecting a response. Right. Yes. Dealing with that now.

“...It’s...I...I make...” Stiles cleared his throat, trying to make his voice less of a squeak. “...I like making lists of things I like saying out loud. It shuts my brain up sometimes.”

‘Confused’ was a good look on Derek. Then again, Stiles was a tad biased on that subject.

“And these are...?” Derek was obviously searching for a ‘polite’ way to say it.

Stiles, however, had no such qualms.

“Different ways of saying ‘jerking off’, yes,” he finished. He hoped dying of embarrassment was quick and painless because dear _God_ the hot flush rising up on his cheeks would be obvious even without Derek’s werewolf senses.

Was he imagining Derek inching a bit closer, or...?

No. No he was not. That was Derek, right there. Right next to Stiles. On Stiles’ bed. In Stiles’ room.

Underneath Stiles’ Wayne Gretsky poster (which annoyed everyone because who the hell supported _Canadian ice hockey_?).

Wait. Why was Wayne Gretsky important? Derek. Derek was right there. Wayne Gretsky was not.

Derek, who was practically nose-to-nose with Stiles at this point.

“Stroking the werewolf?” Derek, who was...smirking? No. That couldn’t be right. No way. “...Do it often?”

...Was...was that a come on? Should Stiles treat it like one? Should he run away and find his dad and get Derek arrested ag-oh.

Derek’s fingers had found a small sliver of skin between Stiles’ t-shirt and his jeans. Derek’s fingers were stroking that small patch of skin.

So. Definitely a come-on, then. Stiles gulped.

“Not...” and he was apparently back to squeaking a bit, “...never done it before.”

“I hardly believe that,” Derek chuckled.

“No,” Stiles said, totally not being distracted by Derek’s fingers still stroking _at all_ , thank you very much. “I mean...flogging the dolphin, spanking the monkey, choking the chicken...done those. Never actually stroked the werewolf.”

“Not even Scott?” And oh that furry bastard was totally holding in laughter as Stiles squawked.

“No! Ew! No way! Scott’s practically my brother _and_ he’s a complete potato _and_ ridiculously in love with Allis-”

And those were Derek’s lips. On his. Doing a kissing thing.

And not stopping.

Well. They did eventually, but only so Derek could pull back enough to say something.

“If you want to,” he practically _purred_ , “then you’ll have to wait. You’re way under 18 and your dad’s the Sheriff. But...we can work up to it. If you want?”

Stiles gulped again, but nodded. And then, as Derek kissed him again, he wondered for the millionth time _how in the hell this was his life_.

He promptly forgot about that when Derek’s tongue made an appearance, causing him to whimper because hey kissing with tongue that was a thing apparently and why did anything else matter.

At least Derek hadn’t got to the pages where Stiles had written down everything he ever wanted to try in bed. That was a good thing.

Because now, Stiles could _show_ him. In about a year, anyway.


End file.
